The Unclassed eBook

Five or six times, throughout the day and evening,
Waymark had knocked at Ida’s door. About
seven o’clock he had called at the Castis’,
but found neither of them at home. Returning
thence to Fulham, he had walked for hours up and down,
in vain expectation of Ida’s coming. There
was no light at her window.

Just before midnight he reached home, having on his
way posted a letter with money in it. As he reached
his door, Julian stood there, about to knock.

“Anything amiss?” Waymark asked, examining
his friend by the light of the street-lamp.

Julian only made a sign to him to open the door.
They went upstairs together, and Waymark speedily
obtained a light. Julian had seated himself on
the couch. His face was ghastly.

“She’s locked up in the police cells,”
was the reply. “My wife has accused her
of stealing things from our rooms.”

Waymark stared at him.

“Cacti, what’s the matter with you?”
he exclaimed, overcome with fear, in spite of his
strong self-command. “Are you ill?
Do you know what you’re saying?”

Julian rose and made an effort to control himself.

“I know what I’m saying, Waymark I’ve
only just heard it. She has come back home from
somewhere—­only just now—­she seems
to have been drinking. It happened in the middle
of the day, whilst I was at the hospital. She
gave her in charge to a policeman in the street, and
a brooch was found on her.”

“A brooch found on her? Your wife’s?”

“Yes. When she came in, she railed at me
like a fury, and charged me with the most monstrous
things. I can’t and won’t go back
there to-night! I shall go mad if I hear her
voice. I will walk about the streets till morning.”

“And you tell me that Ida Starr is in custody?”

“She is. My wife accuses her of stealing
several things.”

“And you believe this?” asked Waymark,
under his voice, whilst his thoughts pictured Ida’s
poverty, of which he had known nothing, and led him
through a long train of miserable sequences.

“I don’t know. I can’t say.
She says that Ida confessed, and, gave the brooch
up at once. But her devilish malice is equal to
anything. I see into her character as I never
did before. Good God, if you could have seen
her face as she told me! And Ida, Ida! I
am afraid of myself, Waymark. If I had stayed
to listen another moment, I should have struck her.
It seemed as if every vein was bursting. How
am I ever to live with her again? I dare not!
I should kill her in some moment of madness!
What will happen to Ida?”

He flung himself upon the couch, and burst into tears.
Sobs convulsed him; he writhed in an anguish of conflicting
passions. Waymark seemed scarcely to observe
him, standing absorbed in speculation and the devising
of a course to be pursued.

“I must go to the police-station,” he
said at length, when the violence of the paroxysm
had passed and left Julian in the still exhaustion
of despair. “You, I think, had better stay
here. Is there any danger of her coming to seek
you?”